Bird, Bear
by ohnosteve
Summary: I will be the bird, you will be the bear. Contradictions Challenge.


**Chapter One: Blue/Black**

When Bulma dreamt, she was a bird.

Many people dreamt of flying, but Bulma dreamt the whole bird. She didn't just see herself soaring through blue skies surveying the ground with sharp eyes and a sharp mind. She saw the dark blot of a rival bird wheeling above, silhouetted against the sun. She saw a mouse as a splash of hot red blood on the white snow, and she revelled in the pride of a successful hunt.

She was the bird, and when she swooped past the dark, rushing river back home she could see the black bear below, still on the other side.

* * *

She woke. The sky was still black above but behind the mountains a purple glow hinted at dawn. Lately, Bulma had begun wearing her thick hide boots to sleep and she was glad for it now, ankle deep in fresh snow. Somewhere in the wood an owl hooted softly.

"Sleep," she mumbled, and staggered back inside, tracking wet footprints across the woven mats.

* * *

"As the raiders move further north it becomes imperative that we seek the aid of other communities in our region. I have sent some of our young hunters out to speak to the closest villages and isolated homesteads about presenting a united front and going after the raiding forces aggressively, rather than waiting for them to come to us."

Murmurs of approval rippled across the room as Bulma's father spoke. The entire community was gathered now into the central building reserved for meetings, even those who rarely left their own farms to participate in centralised village activities.

"What we have come here to discuss is the possibility of sending a representative to speak to those in the mountains."

The murmurs faded into uncomfortable silence. Bulma knew her father wouldn't even consider sending someone north if he weren't desperate, but the last village razed was uncomfortably close, and the raiders had been moving steadily in this direction for too long now.

"They won't help us," someone said at last, and heads all around the room nodded.

"They will kill whoever we send," added another, and this too met with agreement.

The chief sighed. "The mountain-dwellers lead a different lifestyle but they are not barbarians. We all know the stories but we cannot confirm any of them being true in this day. The only things we do know is that they are a people sophisticated enough to build walled cities, that they possess more advanced military technology than we do and they prefer to remain insular. That does not mean they will kill any diplomats on sight."

"We should send Krillin," Bulma said. She sat behind him, growing more and more annoyed with the unwillingness of the village to try and find a solution to their inevitable destruction.

The bald young hunter in the front row looked alarmed.

"Do you want him dead?" asked one of the other hunters, and Krillin's expression suggested that was just what he was thinking.

"One of the more experienced hunters might-" began the chief, but Bulma interrupted.

"If we are worried about an intruder being killed as a threat as soon as they're spotted, Krillin does not look like a threat, and his appearance makes it clear we aren't sending in a team of warriors. He is, however, a strong hunter and I think any group would be impressed by his skills, especially in relation to his size. He is also more articulate than a lot of our hunters."

The last she said with the hint of a sneer and Krillin struggled to smother a chuckle. He was one of the few who appreciated the things Bulma did for the village, rather than considering her a lazy girl who shirked the usual female duties within the community. She thought of him as a friend.

Her father nodded slowly. "That does make sense. If Krillin is willing to volunteer I would be satisfied to make him our representative to the north. Krillin?"

Krillin nodded. "I'm ready for this responsibility."

"And I should go with him," Bulma added.

The rest of them weren't so polite as Krillin. Unrestrained laughter spread over the room.

"Bulma ..."

"I am serious, father. Chief. This is a technologically advanced society. They would probably appreciate a team of representatives that included someone intellectual, as well as a hunter or warrior. Besides which, from what we know about them there is a library within those walls and I could learn so much to help the village. Weaponry, construction materials, farming techniques. We can't know how much there might be there to help us."

"Bulma ..."

"It might be a good idea," volunteered Krillin, emboldened by his selection for this important task. "Many of the stories about them include tales of woman warriors and women leading alongside the men. If their society is structured with women in men's roles, maybe it would make them more amenable if they thought we were the same. And if not, we could describe Bulma to them as an anomaly. They might be more reluctant to fire arrows upon a woman as we approach, too."

He smiled, but the argument wasn't working. Bulma's father had crossed his arm over his chest and was shaking his head slowly. The expressions of the other villagers looked more amused than anything else.

"Or they might be offended at our offer of a female diplomat and kill you both. It is simply too risky." The chief had spoken and for most people that would be the end of it, but Bulma was ready to fight about it.

She opened her mouth to argue but the longhouse door slammed open. "Quickly! We need healers!"

Several of the women rushed out, following the young hunter, then others began flowing out of the building to see what was happening. Three of the hunters sent out to speak to other villages were in the central area where communal outbuildings and the meeting longhouse clustered around a large firepit, currently cold. Two of them stood next to the third, who lay still in the snow.

"The raiders," began one, with a large cut on his forehead. The women trained as healers clustered around the prone figure. Bulma pushed her way to the front of the crowd so she could see the boy on the ground, then regretted it.

His face looked like a child's now, sweaty despite the cold and almost as white as the snow. His friends had wrapped him in their brown furs and he clutched at the cloaks over his chest. They had carried him home for nothing. The cloaks were soaked black with blood and his fingers were already blue.


End file.
